


Have you got colour in your cheeks? (Have you no idea that you're in deep?)

by ImberReader



Series: Do I wanna know (if this feelin' flows both ways)? [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Actors, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, And romantic one too let's be real, And who can really blame her?, At least Jaime is - whereas Brienne's a Makeup Artist, F/M, Sansa is really done with them in the background though mainly just Jaime, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2019-12-19
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:42:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21863149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImberReader/pseuds/ImberReader
Summary: Brienne's dress is too short (courtesy of Sansa), the wrap up party too long and Jaime far too well (over) dressed which makes for dangerous combination.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Series: Do I wanna know (if this feelin' flows both ways)? [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1619905
Comments: 29
Kudos: 148





	Have you got colour in your cheeks? (Have you no idea that you're in deep?)

**Author's Note:**

> "Apodyopis and/or Gymnophoria for JB" - Anonymous
> 
>  **Apodyopis** \- The act of mentally undressing someone.  
>  **Gymnophoria** \- The sensation that someone is mentally undressing you.
> 
> This takes place in a Actor!Jaime and Makeup artist!Brienne verse that I started writing one shot of a while back, hopefully it will see light of day sometime, too. In ideal world, this would have at least 1-3 more pieces, all around their piling UST. Because I _finally_ have excuse to write something to the theme of That Arctic Monkey song which has been haunting me 5 years.
> 
> Not beta-d. We embarrass ourselves publicly like men. But shout out to lovely [nire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nire/gifts) for looking over it! You can find me on [tumblr](https://scoundrels-in-love.tumblr.com/).

The wrap up party has barely begun when one of the stylist assistant approaches her and Podrick. Brienne politely tunes out their conversation, tries not to pay attention to the girl’s slightly smudged eyeliner that her hands immediately itch to fix (professional habit) and almost misses when Podrick asks her if she won’t mind.

“Of course not,” Brienne says, only about seventy percent sure to what she’s agreeing, but it seems she was right and as she watches Podrick being dragged to dancefloor, a smile on his face that implies he’s still processing this turn of events, but rather happy with them. She hopes her expression is encouraging when he glances back at her.

After exchanging nod of mutual, pained understanding with Sandor, Brienne tugs hemline of her dress down ( _again,_ because it refuses to stay there for more than five minutes or twenty steps) and sets off to wander among the crowd. She isn’t _exactly_ looking for Sansa, as she hasn’t figured excuse to leave early just yet, but there’s hope inspiration will strike her soon.

It’s not that she hates her coworkers or the startled, pleasant warmth in her chest when someone stops her to praise her design and work on Night King - quite the opposite, really. But she always feels adrift during social gatherings and parties that come with show business. 

She’s gotten better at it, in part because as a friend and employee she can’t exactly say no to Sansa’s invites, yet she still always feels like a salmon trying to make its way upstream - a success, but at what cost?

Brienne catches glimpse of redhead then, she’s standing with Jaime and eyerolling at one of his jokes, while most of the other women in the small group giggle. Gauging a good time to approach, Brienne watches them. Tries to not pay attention to the way his costar keeps touching her hair and his elbow. He ignores it better than she does.

“I don’t mix work and pleasure,” he always says, but every woman who has been kept at bay by this thinks it’s free game _now_ , at the wrap up party. They’re not co-workers anymore, not really. Tonight, they don’t hide the way their gazes pop open the next button on his blue shirt, slide the pale jacket off of his shoulders and run caresses down his arms.

Brienne swallows then, suddenly almost feeling the texture of his shirt under her fingers - just yesterday, she fixed his collar in passing when he rushed out of his trailer, almost late for lunch meeting with Tyrion. But it hadn’t been like _that_ , she hadn’t thought of the way muscles in his stomach tense at her touch when they’re in makeup trailer and she’s applying bruise to his torso. The heat of his skin and the way his Adam’s apple bobs when she leans in close to add a final touch to his face. The moan he makes when taking bite of his favorite takeout on their movie nights. The weight of him when he had pressed into the couch in attempt to reclaim remote control she had wrestled from his hand a minute earlier.

She’s thinking of it all and so much more now.

There is no way she can go talk to Sansa, face Jaime, until her splotchy blush has subsided, so Brienne turns away and does her best to distract herself from distressingly, increasingly familiar detour her thoughts had taken.

She succeeds so well that when Jaime surprises her by the buffet table, she almost jumps at the sound of his voice.

“You should probably stop doing that.”

Her fingers freeze where they’ve been trying to discreetly tug the skirt of her short black dress down at the seam. It doesn’t look horrible, but Sansa’s jealousy of her long legs manifests in fierce attempts to have Brienne show them off as much as possible and sometimes she succumbs, only to regret later.

She finishes the tug, out of principle, but when she looks at Jaime’s face, it’s not the usual light, amused expression her displays of stubbornness. Instead, there is something tense in the line of his jaw, quirk of his mouth.

“Every time you do, I end up staring at your legs even more.”

Her first instinct is to coil up in defensive position at the echo of hurt, reminiscent of their early acquaintanceship days. But she _knows_ Jaime now - this isn’t the tone, the expression with which he’d imply her legs are so unsightly redirecting gaze to them is an offense.

She’s seen this tension, too, but never deciphered quite what it means and it unnerves her, makes her wonder if she knows him after all.

“Sorry?” Brienne keeps her tone neutral, trying not to show the mounting irritation, but doesn’t succeed entirely.

He shifts closer to her, as if to slip by the barrier she is building. “Oh, _I_ don’t mind in the slightest.”

Jaime’s tone makes her gaze snap to his face from where its been wandering aimlessly over his shoulder. His voice is low in a way that makes her shiver almost and when he catches her eye, he has the gall to smirk before deliberately looking down at her legs to prove his words. 

The heat of his gaze is so palpable it almost feels like caress on her skin - light, appreciative fingers starting their journey upward from her ankles until tips of his fingers tease their way under the hem of her dress, resting there. The imagery is so vivid in her mind, Brienne lets out a shaky breath she can barely hear over her heart’s hammering. By the way he’s looking at her, glowing with smugness and something _more_ , her little fantasy must’ve been written clearly on her face.

Or maybe he was thinking the same.

The mere idea sends another rush of heat to her face (and elsewhere.) She must be her splotchiest red now, the color blaring through her light makeup like a firetruck. She opens her mouth, without knowing what to say, but he beats her to it.

“I am not sure that’s the result you’re going for, though.” It sounds like a question, somehow, as if he’s asking if she minds. And Jaime’s expression is almost tentative now, in a way that makes no sense to her.

But she _would_ take offense if it was anyone else, wouldn’t she? A little more and the caress would become leering sort that makes her shudder instead of shiver in anticipation (of things that will not come).

It’s not a new realization, this want. She keeps hoping it will die unattended in a corner of her heart, but it grows like a beautiful weed from the slightest scraps thrown its way. And tonight, staring in his hesitant ( _hopeful_ ) eyes, she almost has the words to express it. Something flirty would do, borrowed from Margaery’s repertoire, as she leans in closer and glances down to his lips –

“Brienne! There you are!” Sansa’s voice bursts the shimmering bubble and Brienne jolts, her mouth parted around the unsaid words, looking like an utter idiot. She thinks she catches a dazed look and then a sea spray of annoyance on Jaime’s face before he schools it into polite smile for their host.

“I was afraid you had slipped away without a word,” her friend seems oblivious to all this, thank the gods, and loops arm through Brienne’s. “You should spend some time with someone else than a Lannister for a change, Brie. _Especially_ if he’s just wasting your time.” She doesn’t have time to process odd exchange of looks between her friends before Sansa tugs on her arm: “Everyone here has such high praise to you and your team, you ought to hear it yourself.”

“Oh no, it’s fine-” she tries to protest, but this is not a tide she can sail against, and now that she has regained her faculties, it doesn’t seem like a bad idea to be busy and as far from Jaime as possible. She must re-calibrate her Jaime-translator before she ends up looking like an utter fool. So she lets Sansa sweep her away into the crowd, imagining Jaime’s gaze clinging to her back and willing her heart to calm down in both heart rate and longing.


End file.
